


Pathetically Constructed

by FloaromaMeadow



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-21 22:48:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9570170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloaromaMeadow/pseuds/FloaromaMeadow
Summary: You shouldn't have to settle for this reality.Set during Dark Side of Dimensions.





	

_System activated. Uploading cathedral simulation._

You stand in the center of the room. Watch as honeycombs of light spread across every surface, transforming the bare metal walls and empty spaces into vaulted ceilings, stained glass windows, marble.

As the simulation solidifies around you, you stride down the aisle of the cathedral, coat swaying, its hem brushing against the pews on either side. When you reach the altar, you turn and survey your handiwork.

You may not agree with the sentiment behind a place like this, but you can appreciate the dramatic effect.

As if on cue (it is), the door swings open. Blinding light streams through, reducing the figure standing in the doorway to a shadowy silhouette.

Him.

“Back again, I see.” His voice echoes as he steps over the threshold. “When will you learn that no matter how many times you challenge me –”

“Save it.” He halts mid-speech. You sink down, let your weight rest against the table at the altar. (A real desk lies beneath the holographic overlay. No point in trying to sit at one of the pews, you’d fall right through.) “I didn’t come here to duel you.”

He blinks. Cocks an eyebrow. Chuckles. (You picked out that chuckle yourself, sifted through your memories searching for one with just the right pitch, just the right tone, just the right mixture of scorn and warmth somehow rolled into one.) “Now that would be a first.” A smirk spreads across his features. “Perhaps you’ve finally realized the futility of –”

“You’re not real.”

He falls silent.

You wrap your fingers around your knees.

“Even if… _when_ I defeated you, it wouldn’t count.” Your grip turns white-knuckled. A snarl escapes from the back of your throat. “Nothing here _counts_.”

“Then why are you here?”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.

Several long, frozen seconds pass. 

“I…” Your jaw tightens. You swallow. You can’t—no, that’s ridiculous—you choose not to meet his eyes. You stare pointedly at nothing.

Silence.

Then footsteps.

Ringing sharp on the stone floor.

Moving toward you.

You don’t look up.

The footsteps continue. You keep expecting them to stop at any moment. They don’t.

Curiosity gets the better of you. You tilt your head.

The footsteps finally stop.

And there he is. Inches away. Gazing down at you.

(The part of your brain that hasn’t forgotten how to breathe is amused that you have to be sitting down to look up at him.)

Every subtle shift of his facial features, lifelike. Every strand of hair on his head, perfect (and you should know, you spent hours rendering it). You can hear him breathing, you can feel the heat radiating off of his body and _it’s not real, he’s not real_ —

You find your voice, force it to come out light, sardonic. “…I don’t remember programming you to do this.”

He smirks again. (A different one this time. Who knew there were so many variations preserved in your memories.) “This system is linked to your mind, Kaiba. I do whatever you imagine me doing.”

He leans forward. You tense instinctively. He reaches out and balances his weight against the table, his hands resting on either side of you, his fingers almost brushing against your thighs. “So tell me…if you don’t want to duel, what _do_ you want?”

_You…you want…_

_To defeat him._

_To prove he’s not worthy._

_To prove he’s not…that you’re not…that you don’t…_

_To see him again. Just one more time. Just a thousand more times._

_To…to…_

_You want…_

You’re not sure if you lean into the kiss or if he does.

You suppose it’s the same difference.

He feels...warm. He feels real. You raise a trembling hand, snake it around his back, twist it into the fabric of his jacket, and it’s solid under your fingers. You want this. _God_ do you want this. You could stay like this. You could forget. You could pretend. You could…

You can’t.

You pull away. It’s like letting go of a life raft, slipping back under the waves just when you’d finally managed to steal a gasp of air.

You can still feel yourself shaking. You hate yourself for it.

Slowly, painfully slowly, he lifts his arms off the table, leans away from you. He smirks (a third variation).

“I take it that didn’t count either?”

You stare hollowly at the ghost you’ve created.

Then you raise your duel disk arm and bring it down in a slicing motion.

The simulation flickers. Fades. The smirk stays fixed on his face even as he dissolves into nothing.

You’re alone.

You’ve been alone all along.

When you speak, your voice sounds muted and small in the empty room.

“No. It didn’t.”


End file.
